Giselle stayed in the study, deep in conversation with Lysander for quite some time.
Their discussion stretched until noon.
Without extending an invitation for lunch, Lysander promised to accompany her to the Harvey estate in a few days. He personally escorted her downstairs and watched as she left.
Returning to the bedroom, he found Harper feeding Mila. Lysander joined them, quietly eating while observing the scene. However, his gaze soon shifted, becoming more intense.
Mila’s eating was graceful, her delicate lips opening and closing as she carefully chewed and savored each bite, a picture of elegance that was as pleasing to the eye as it was calming.
After a while, Lysander suddenly spoke, Could you leave us for a moment?
Harper, unsure of his request, nonetheless set down her fork and exited the room, leaving Mila puzzled by the sudden change.
What was going on now?
She watched as Lysander moved closer, taking a seat across from her. Picking up a fork, he offered her a small piece of beef, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
Mila turned her head away, I’m full.
You’ve barely eaten. Is it that you don’t like what Harper cooked today? Lysander asked with a light chuckle. I can have her make something else.
Are you done yet?
Mila glared at him, but he merely smiled, nudging the fork closer.
I can feed myself.
As she reached for the fork, he gently grasped her wrist, Your hand is still injured, don’t push yourself.
In the end, she relented, allowing him to feed her with surprising care and tenderness, a rare display of attentiveness from him.
Yet, there was something unsettling in his gaze, something that made Mila’s skin crawl.
Before long, she claimed she was truly full, wiped her lips, and stood to walk towards the balcony, the only part of the house she was allowed to roam.
But as she rose, he pulled her back with a firm grip, and she tumbled into his broad chest, his lips capturing hers in a forceful kiss. The sound of their breaths mingled with the rustle of clothes as his warm hands wandered beneath her sweater, igniting fires wherever they touched.
Who would believe that?
Mila certainly didn’t. She had learned long ago not to trust a man’s words when he was in the throes of passion. Besides, whether it was true or not didn’t matter anymore.
She simply didn’t want Lysander in her life any longer.
—
In the days that followed, Mila found herself confined to the Montgomery estate, unable to go out or see anyone. Her only connection to the outside world was a phone—one that wasn’t her own modified device, leaving her isolated and out of touch with many people, halting numerous matters.
The only silver lining was Adrian’s daily returns. She kept him in the master bedroom each night, which served as a shield against much of Lysander’s unwelcome advances.
She couldn’t understand what new whim had taken hold of Lysander’s mind.
Their marriage had seen its share of phases: initially cold and indifferent, later marked by frequent and rough intimacy, then a sudden cooling off in the past year or two. Now, he was behaving unpredictably again, as if caught in some erratic storm.
What Mila found most unbearable, most detestable, was this inconsistency. Whether in personal matters or business, he treated her like a toy to be moved at his whim, never once considering her thoughts or desires. This wasn’t a marriage. She had had enough of living like this.